


Allotropes

by Geekhyena



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Autism, Canon Autistic Character, Gen, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geekhyena/pseuds/Geekhyena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can be so similar to a person and yet so different...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Is This Feeling?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telm_393](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telm_393/gifts).



Chapter One: What Is This Feeling?

It was strange how on paper, two people could be so alike and yet so diametrically opposite in real life. When first he and Newt had begun corresponding, they had been brought together not by their activity in the PPDF, as most people believed, but by a series of intense conversations on an online community for autistic scientists. Online conversations had turned to Skype chats, and then both had been shocked when their first in-person meeting had turned disastrous.

“Some serious Glinda and Elphaba shit,” Hermann had overheard Newt saying once, when he thought Hermann’s noise-cancelling headphones had been turned on. It had been an apt comparison. How could two people so similar on paper: autistic, male, multiple doctorates, excellent in the sciences - how could they be so different in physical space? 

Hermann had grown up surrounded by siblings, and while they had been neutral towards him, school was a different story. He was frequently bullied or misunderstood, though at first it had just been for the spinal damage he had been born with, leaving him with legs not strong enough to stand on unassisted. His parents had known that raising him would be different than raising his siblings, and took it in stride. When they had recognized that he was not just physically different, but also mentally, their reaction had been fairly benign: set him up with a therapist in addition to his physical therapy, try to help him deal with the constant bullying, and encourage his love of mathematics, as it was a field where a mind like his could excel. It worked to an extent — the bullies didn’t stop, and he was often lonely, but he found a solace in the beauty of mathematics.These were the equations that defined the Universe. To understand them was to understand Creation. They were beautiful and cold and clear, these crystalline equations at the heart of the Universe, and they captivated him like no other. His autism had never been seen as a burden, only a difference, one that made it harder to get on with others, yes, but that opened up doors of understanding that others could only dream of.

Newt, on the other hand, had lived through almost the exact opposite. As easy as it had been for Hermann, the son of a prestigious scientist, to get diagnosed, Newt’s father and uncle hadn’t had the time or understanding to really get what was going on. When Monica Schwartz had fobbed her child off on her lover and his brother, the two men hadn’t had the foggiest clue how to raise a girl, but they had done the best they could. When said girl turned out to be precocious to the point of annoying, obsessed with monster movies, and insistent that their assigned gender at birth was wrong, well, they did the best they could, but money had been tight and cultural attitudes in Germany had been less than accepting of who he was. His father and uncle were frequently blamed for his misbehavior, and the local attitude had been ‘raised by two men, and musicians at that, no wonder she turned out strange’. Autism had never entered the picture - the diagnosis criteria had been formed based on upper-class white cismen, and poor trans girls never entered the picture. The school counselor had told him that if he tried hard to be more like a girl, things would get better, leading to full-on meltdowns in school. After that, he’d poured all his energy and frustration with the world into his science, and learned everything he could. If the world wouldn’t accept him as he was, he’d change the world. He hadn’t been diagnosed until he entered MIT at age twelve. Current US law hadn’t allowed him to officially transition until age 18, but on university paperwork he was not listed as Sarah but as Newton. 

For Hermann, his parents had been proud of him when he’d followed his father into the PPDC, the only one of his siblings to do so. His father, typically stoic, had actually boasted about him. No longer was he the autistic loner, a child to be proud of but never understood. As the two of them worked together on the programming and design of the Mark I Jagers, he had finally started to feel acceptance. Newt had been fighting every day of his life, and that hadn’t changed once the Kaiju attacked. His tattoos had been his way of claiming a body he was finally comfortable in, and an inspiration to understand more about the world of new science that had opened up.

Via text, they had become close friends - they had shared their professional and personal lives together. Newt shared his theories about Kaiju biology with Hermann, who responded in kind with the mathematical model he was developing to predict attack frequency and intensity. Their discussions were not just academic, however; on the contrary, they spent hours talking late into the night about their different tastes in music and literature, or about their daily lives at work. They shared advice about navigating the perilous social minefields of academia, because even for geniuses, there was only so much weirdness one was expected to display. Over three years, their emails and text conversations became more frequent and more intense, becoming a valuable part of the men’s lives.

And then they decided to meet. It had occurred fairly spontaneously: Hermann had been invited to speak at a conference in Boston, presenting a new paper on his research, and Newt had said that since they would be in the same area for once, why not meet up? There was a fantastic hole-in-the wall restaurant he knew of that had the best German food he’d had in the US. Hermann had agreed. He and Newt had gotten quite close, and while his anxiety in social settings was often rather difficult to deal with, this was Newt, who knew him better than anyone else. His nerves had buzzed for weeks with a curious mixture of excitement and dread.

And then it all went to hell. Text was clean, elegant, devoid of emotion or intensity save that which the writer put into it (or in Newt’s case, the emojis he insisted on adding when he got particularly excited). Communicating via text, one had time to consider one’s responses in a calm and rational manner. And apparently, communication via text had been rather misleading as to the nature of their respective personalities.

When Hermann arrived at Schinkenstrand & Derstier’s, it was a tad loud for his tastes; not from conversation, but from the owner’s apparent love of polka, which played jauntily from speakers set into decorative beer steins. It was old-country kitsch, and a trifle annoying, but he was counting on the distraction of good company. What he was not counting on was being lifted bodily off his feet, his cane clattering to the floor, as Newt slid off the barstool he had been sitting at and crossed the room, bounding up to him and embracing him in a bear hug tight enough to make Hermann’s ribs creak.

“Hermann! My man! You made it!” Newt attempted to spin the both of them around, almost overbalancing and sending them careening into the coat rack. “Oops, sorry.” He set Hermann down as gently as he could, and Hermann leaned against the wall, trying not to wheeze. “Gah! Sorry, I made you drop your cane. Here you go!” He thrust it at Hermann without looking, nearly catching the man in his solar plexus. Two minutes into their first meeting in person, and Hermann was already regretting it.

As the night wore on, he regretted it even more. In the flesh, Newt was more like an overactive large-breed puppy than anything else. He was clumsy, he was loud, he was frenetic, and had no respect for personal boundaries. Hermann wished he had thought to bring some sort of stim toy along with him, if only to calm his nerves, which Newt was rapidly fraying. After the bone-creaking hug, Newt had guided Hermann to a booth alongside the wall. “Ohmygosh Hermann, seriously. I am so glad you are here!” Newt had beamed, sliding into the booth with a table-rattling thud. “Why didn’t we do this sooner? I could have taken time off and gone to Alaska or something.” He paused to order two pints of “Teufels Rückgrat - nice dark beer, kicks like a goat, you’ll love it,” and grinned even wider. “I mean, MIT let me take time off from teaching to do the Jager Academy training, I could have taken time off to visit you. Oh, man, you were in one of the first classes! How was that? Must’ve been weird, I mean, working with your dad like that? I wish we’d’ve been in the same class, you know? We could have been roomies! Oh my god how awesome would that have been?”

Hermann found himself unable to get a word in edgewise until the beer arrived. It did, indeed, kick like a goat. It was also entirely possible that goats had been bathing in it. He ordered a glass of water to clear the taste out of his mouth, while Newt continued to natter on, pausing only to breathe or sip his beer. This was nothing like the enthusiastic yet measured tone of their text conversations: this was Hurricane Newton.

“So you have to try the Weiner Schnitzel here, seriously. I know you said you missed good German food and this place has really good veal - it’s even from Brown Swiss cows! They get it from a dairy co-op. Really sweet deal they have going on. Found out about this place from one of my students - our waiter, actually, Billy Derstier, his dad’s the cook, and he was in that biochem class I got stuck teaching, remember, the one I took over after Huiatt quit to start his own brewery? Anymahwo, he mentioned working here part time when I had office hours one day and I had to come because seriously, good German food is hard to find out here. Just like being back in the old country, amirite?”

“I suppose,” Hermann said, managing to finally cut in. He admitted that Newt did have a point - the food was good, and while the enthusiastic polka had segued into Weird Al Yankovic’s greatest hits, the slight annoyance of the atmosphere was nothing compared to how overstimulated and overwhelmed he was by Newton. How had things gone so wrong? They got along perfectly well via text - in fact, until tonight, he would have counted Newt as one of his best friends. Probably one of his only friends, if he was being realistic. But this was completely different from the Newt he knew online. In person, Newt was too overwhelming: too loud, too in your face, too….too everything. They finished dinner much the same way as it had begun, with Newt dominating the conversation, nattering on and on until Hermann began to give up on getting a word in edgewise. Not a moment too soon, the check came.

Newt handed Billy his credit card, and then turned to Hermann, a grimace on his face. “God, I am such an ass. I’ve nattered on the whole night. Really sorry, I just got excited because it’s you and you’re awesome!” He flailed a bit, then slung an arm around Hermann’s shoulders, apparently not noticing the way Hermann stiffened at the touch. “Tell you what, I know a great bar a few blocks away. Live jazz tonight, even! We’ll go there, have a few drinks, and you can natter back at me for a change, it’ll be fun! Whaddaya say?”

“I think I have had enough “fun” for tonight,” Hermann replied stiffly, leaning heavily on his cane. He wanted to get back to his hotel room and stim. He’d brought his knitting with him on the trip, and was slowly knitting himself a sweater, the stripes being a series of Fibonacci numbers. It was math and stimming, two things he desperately needed now, after an evening spent around the raw chaos that was Newton Geiszler. 

“Whoa, I said I was sorry...I mean...please?” The look he gave Hermann was disturbingly canine. Why did he feel like he had just kicked a puppy? But he was out of energy, and desperately needed recharging. He needed out. He needed to relax. He needed to not be around Newt for a while. Perhaps a long while.

“I said, I have had enough for tonight.” It came out a bit harsher than he had meant it, and Newt actually flinched. “I will arrange for my own transportation back to the hotel. Goodnight.”

“Whoa, Hermann, Hermann, please…” Hermann ignored it, heading back to his hotel. This had been a disaster, and he thoroughly wished to forget about it.


	2. There's A Fine, Fine Line

Chapter Two: There’s a Fine, Fine Line 

BMovieBadass: Hermann I’m sorry  
BMovieBadass: Hermann, you there?  
BMovieBadass: Hermann look I don’t know what I did to piss you off like this but it’s been a week are you ok?  
BMovieBadass: Hermann why aren’t you messaging me? I thought we were friends, what did I do?  
BMovieBadass: *poke*  
BMovieBadass: Hermann come on programming is not your life you can take a break and chat to your friend  
BMovieBadass: Hermannnnnnnn…….what’s with the radio silence? Getting worried, man! It’s been a month! Kind of a dick move, yaknow?

Hermann sighed. He had hoped that ignoring Newt would give the message that he needed space to degauss and get his brain in order, but it didn’t seem to work. He had returned to the Jager Academy to find himself plunged headfirst into detangling a particularly difficult problem with his equations, immersing himself in the calm, rational equations. This was what he needed, the pure logic of the universe, calming even in its difficulty, free of chaos and overstimulation. Immersing himself in the equations would be a lot easier, however, if Newt would take a hint.

ReinerMathematiker: Dr. Geiszler, I would have thought that my “radio silence”, as you put it, would convey that I do not wish to speak to you.  
BMovieBadass: Hermann! *glomps* Whew, was starting to worry. What’s wrong? What did I do?  
ReinerMathematiker: You spent the whole of the evening completely ignoring me except as an audience to natter at. You knew my issues with being touched, and yet you greet me by nearly knocking me into the wall and unbalancing me. It was overwhelming and overloading and you didn’t seem to notice, nor to care. It was like being the victim of an overly enthusiastic Saint Bernard.  
ReinerMathematiker: That had consumed massive amounts of stimulants, possibly illegal ones.  
BMovieBadass: Dude, I was not that bad, and I did apologize!  
ReinerMathematiker: Yes, after spending three hours using me as a captive audience!   
ReinerMathematiker: I counted the times I was able to speak without you running over me: five times in three hours. Five times!  
BMovieBadass: I’m sorry! I got excited! Dude, you could’ve told me you were uncomfortable! You know I suck at reading body language!  
ReinerMathematiker: Evidently.  
BMovieBadass: Hey, I said I was sorry. And you could have said something!  
ReinerMathematiker: That would have required getting a word in edgewise!   
BMovieBadass: So you could’ve interrupted me! Dude, don’t you have siblings? That’s how people talk when they get excited!  
ReinerMathematiker: Not if you have the manners G-d gave a goose  
BMovieBadass: Well sorry, but some of us have had to grow up getting talked over so much we learn to interrupt so we can say something! The world doesn’t hang on our every word, we have to fight to be heard. It’s how the world works outside of your little secluded enclave of code and giant robots. I told you I get hyperverbal when I get excited!  
ReinerMathematiker: That was not hyperverbal. That was a manic episode, and I took the full brunt of it. If that is how you are going to act, I want no part of it.  
BMovieBadass: Look, I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?  
ReinerMathematiker: For you to take a hint and LEAVE ME ALONE.  
BMovieBadass: Fine. Go have fun with your equations and code. Sorry for being so excited to actually have friends for once. That’ll show me to try.  
ReinerMathematiker: Stop trying to guilt me, Geiszler. 

They didn’t speak again for three years. Hermann pretended he didn’t notice.


	3. Tear Me Down

Chapter Three: Tear Me Down 

“I appreciate you coming to help me get settled in,” Hermann said, as Mako opened a door for him. He had been assigned to the Hong Kong Shatterdome, where Stacker was gathering scientists as part of a new, expanded research effort. Mako had been there when he arrived, and he had been glad of her presence. He was quite fond of Ms. Mori. They had first met when Stacker had called him for assistance, as a sort of ‘autistic on call’. He’d given Stacker advice on helping Mako heal and learn to deal with stress, and it had worked. He had taught Mako to knit, and she had taught him origami, and they had become friends. It was an odd sort of friendship, the reserved yet determined young girl and the cynical, introverted researcher, but they both understood the benefits of quiet stimming, and of the relaxation that it brought. 

“Marshall Pentecost says I may not attend the Jager Academy until next year. And since you are no longer at the academy, I wished to see you again while I still could.” She smiled shyly at him. “You have been a great help. There are not many who understand. Sometimes it feels like no one even tries. It is a relief to not have to constantly be explaining myself or justifying my existence.”

Hermann nodded. There was an immense relief coming from knowing someone in your life understood you. It was rare enough that when found, it had to be treasured. He hadd thought that he’d had that with Newt; he had been so wrong, and it had hurt. Being around Mako wasn’t quite the same - his brain seemed to have classified her firmly in the ‘little sister’ role, whereas he and Newt had been equals, more or less - but it was close enough, and in some ways, maybe a bit better.

“Fa - I mean, Marshall Pentecost...he says there are so many scientists here, that if there are solutions to be found they will be found here. I hope he is right. He has brought the best and brightest together, he says.” She paused to consult a map on a datapad. “I believe your new laboratory is right through these doors.” 

She used her hip to push the ‘door open’ pad and they walked through the doors and into utter chaos. Weird Al Yankovic boomed from an impressive speaker setup as Newton Geiszler lugged several specimen tanks around, a task that perhaps would have gone quicker if he hadn’t also insisted on dancing along to the music. Hermann froze in the doorway, nearly dropping the box of files he was holding. 

“What on EARTH is he doing in my laboratory?” Hermann exclaimed. “Miss Mori, were you aware of this?”

“I knew that he was to be stationed in the same facility, yes,” she said, helping him recover his balance. “I was unaware that Marshall Pentecost had decided you were to be sharing the same space, but perhaps he thinks there are...synergies? to come from what you are both researching.”

“There will be no synergies if I have to share my space with that chaotic Katamari of a man!”

“I believe there will be,” boomed Marshall Pentecost, striding into the room, pausing as he considered the two men, a resolute look on his face. “You two are my best and brightest researchers. If there is something to be found, you two will find it.” He gave looked sternly at both scientists. “We are putting a great deal of trust in you. I trust that you are professional enough to work together and prove us right. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see how the new pilots are settling in. Mako, if you would come with me?”

Mako gave Hermann and Newt one long, penetrating glare as she set the boxes down and turned to follow Stacker, a look of grim determination on her face. She bowed respectfully, then hurried after Stacker, demeanor changing from serious to cheerful as she chattered excitedly in Japanese about the new schematics she had been reading about.

“I guess we’d better get to work then, right?”

“I would presume so. However, if we are to work in the same lab, and as it appears we both like to listen to music while we work, I ask that you either invest in a good pair of headphones, or turn down that cacophony you call music so that I can appreciate the true genius that is Itzhak Perlman.”

“Dude, this is not cacophony! Weird Al Yankovic is a classic!”

“Certainly, if you find parodies of songs from your infancy classic…”

“The man can rock a mean accordion. You’re German, surely you appreciate the genius of good polka!”

“I can appreciate a good polka.“Weird” Al Yankovic has yet to write one,” Hermann fired back, making air quotes around the musician’s moniker. 

“Herrman! Why, you-- Do you want this kaiju lung near your chalkboard?!?!”

“Newton, would you please stop waving that around?”

“I’ll throw it! Flies just like a Nerf football - me and Tendo were practicing the other night, I’ve got great aim...”

“Oh for goodness’ sake--”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the awesome superbeta, Masha (verdigrisvagabond) who helped me write the fic and was an awesome beta *hugggs*, as well as wizardslexicon and nimblermortal for betaing and helping with the fic. All y'all are wonderful.
> 
> Degaussing = my personal shorthand for decompressing/brain resetting via stimming/relaxing.


End file.
